


A Bug

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, here be fluff, is it a stomach bug or is it..., mulder and scully trying to be in a relationship, mulder should not be allowed in the kitchen, scully is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Scully isn't feeling well and Mulder tries to make things better.





	A Bug

“Mulder, let me at least help you.” Scully stands in the doorway of her kitchen with a look of mild concern on her face. Or maybe that’s the nausea that’s been plaguing her for over a week now. Mulder feels her eyes on him as he unpacks the plastic bags from the store. He’s never been grocery shopping for her before; they’ve never even done it together. Lately, though, they’ve had a lot of firsts.

“You’d help me if you stayed in bed, or at least on the couch, and rest,” Mulder tells her with a stern look. She opens her mouth and he stops her before she can say a single word. “Don’t tell you’re fine, Scully. We both know you’re not.”

“It’s just a stomach bug. You don’t need to take care of me.”

“But can I, please? I want to take care of you.” They’ve been over this before plenty of times. Mulder finally won the first round when Scully sent him off to the supermarket all by himself. She stares at him and sighs. He gets it. At least he thinks he does. Scully hates being sick. Even if it’s just a stomach bug – and that, in Mulder’s opinion, is still debatable anyway. He keeps that particular opinion to himself for now. This is new for her; for both of them. It’s the first time either of them is sick now that they’re… whatever they are. They have yet to put a label on it. As Mulder looks at her now, her skeptic eyes and crossed arms, he thinks nothing has changed at all. Except that they kiss now, sometimes, and share a bed, every once in a while.

“What if you catch this bug too?” Scully asks instead.

“That is the least of my concern, Scully. And if I do catch it, you can take care of me. Deal? Now go take your hot-water bottle and let me make you soup.”

“Soup, Mulder?”

“Yes, soup. You need to eat something beside these tasteless crackers you’ve been munching on.”

“Do you know how to make soup?”

“I do know how to open a can, Scully.”

“If you need my help-“

“Scully…”

“If, Mulder. I’ll be on my couch.”

He waits until he is certain that she’s back in the living room before he unpacks the last bag. Mulder stares at the rather small, rectangular box. He shouldn’t have bought it. He knows this. But as he walked through the aisles he came past it and paused. The chances were slim. Nonexistent, Scully might say if she knew. He hears the TV come on in the living room and he puts the box back in the bag. He hides it in the highest cupboard behind an old, dusty cow-shaped mug.

Soup, he reminds himself. Scully’s kitchen is equipped with the best and newest gadgets. No rusty can openers in her drawers. Mulder stares at the kitchen helper and is baffled. How is that thing supposed to work? He stares at the open doorway and wonders if he should just ask Scully. But no. He can open this can of soup by himself. Mulder applies the can opener in the only way that seems logical to him. Nothing happens. He tries again with the same result. Mulder inspects it and then applies it again in a slightly different way. Finally, the blade digs into the metal.

“Ha!” He twists the opener again and again and it barely moves. “Are you kidding me,” Mulder mumbles under his breath and twists harder. The metal blade jumps off the rim of the can and right into Mulder’s finger. Blood splatters comically onto Scully’s kitchen counter and Mulder yelps. Or screams. All he knows is that he makes a noise. One that doesn’t sound funny at all.

“Mulder!” Scully rushes into the kitchen and he turns to her, a simple reflex, and the blood drips, drips onto the floor. “What did you do?”

“It’s a good thing you’re a doctor, Scully,” Mulder says feeling light-headed, “because I feel just about ready to faint.”

“No one is going to faint, Mulder,” but he feels dizzy and leans heavily against her; she huffs and pushes him towards the kitchen chairs where he slumps down into one. She grabs a dish towel and hands it to him. “What on earth did you do?”

“The soup,” he says with a voice that is barely there. “I just wanted to make you soup.”

“Oh Mulder.” Scully runs her hand through his hair. “Let me see.” Gently she takes the towel away; it’s already stained with red splotches. Mulder looks at her face instead, feeling as queasy as Scully has lately. “It needs stitches.”

“This is not how the evening was supposed to go,” He says with a pout but she gives him a smile and pats his cheek.

“It’s not a deep cut, at least. We can fix it here.” His eyes light up. “You really are lucky I’m a doctor.” She kisses his cheek softly and he almost forgets about the cut and the blood and the pain. “I’m just going to get my first-aid kit. Don’t move, Mulder. I mean it. And keep the towel tightly wrapped around your finger.” Mulder does as he’s told and waits for her to return. As she sits down across from him, he realizes how pale she looks.

“I’m so sorry, Scully.”

“I was kind of looking forward to the soup,” she says with a mischievous smile as she disinfects his wound expertly. He hisses in pain.

“I know I said I could open a can, but Scully, what even is that thing you call a can opener? You’ll have to do it yourself, I’m afraid. I can however heat it for you.”

“I think I better do that, too. I’m not in the mood to extinguish any fires tonight.” They’re quiet for a moment and Mulder tries not to look at his finger. But with her face so close he sees pearls of sweat on her forehead.

“How are you feeling?” He asks her. He’s been asking the same question for over a week now. Ever since she was late on Tuesday because she wasn’t feeling well. He asked every time she spent more than five minutes in the bathroom at work and returned with an ashen face. The answer has been each time and he doesn’t expect her to reply with anything but I’m fine. The moment stretches on and Scully doesn’t answer, concentrates on stitching him up.

“Do you need a painkiller, Mulder? How bad is the pain?” She doesn’t look at him.

“I’ll tell you when you tell me how you’re feeling. You’re not fine, Scully.” Still, she refuses to look at him. Mulder puts two fingers under her chin and gently lifts it. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks hollow and pale.

“It’s just a stomach bug.” Scully’s voice wavers, uncertainty sneaking in unasked.

“You need to see a doctor,” he says in a soft whisper.

“I am a doctor, Mulder.” She points at his perfectly stitched up finger.

“What are you so afraid of? You don’t think it’s…” He can’t even say the word. Cancer. Mulder refuses to think it. Scully shakes her head, puts her hand on his cheek to reassure him. Her fingers are cold and he almost shivers from it so he puts his own hand over hers, warming them both.

“That’s not it… I- the symptoms are, well. It’s just a bug, Mulder.”

“What if it’s a different kind of bug?” She furrows her brows. “I mean what if… it’s not like we talked about it or," he swallows hard. It’s not like they have talked about anything. One day they were partners, friends. The next night they were kissing for the first time, then suddenly for the hundredth. Now they’re here, a matching, damaged pair, glancing at each other in silent confusion. “Or used any protection,” Mulder says, takes her hand off his cheek and into his. She stares at him with wide open eyes. He knows she entertained the thought; it’s as clear as day now. Yet neither dares to say the actual words.

“That’s not a possibility. Can we please not talk about it?”

“But…” Her eyes plead with his and he nods, gives in. “I say we heat up this soup and then you can do with me whatever you want.” Mulder waggles his eyebrows at her and she smiles, though it looks sad.

“I’m not really hungry. Can you just hold me for a while, Mulder?” He swallows again, takes a deep breath and puts on a smile just for her. He holds out his hand and she takes it. Before she lets him lead her away, she pauses. “Mulder, all the blood. We can’t leave it like this.” He grabs another, clean towel, wets it and quickly swipes the counter and the floor.

“There.”

“Mulder, please tell me this is not how you clean.”

“It’s not. But it’s enough for tonight. Come on. You’re sick and you need bed rest.” Scully snorts but follows him. He switches off all the lights and the TV, and then he joins her on the bed, spoons her. Scully sighs, a shaky sound. Tentatively Mulder inches closer and puts his hands over her stomach.

“This okay?” He whispers against her ear, kissing her there. She nods. They’re quiet and Mulder thinks Scully has fallen asleep when her own hands land over his, mindful of his stitched up cut.

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought about it.” He remains silent. “The bug. As in what if it’s… a different kind of bug. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“You know me, Scully,” he leans over to kiss the corner of her mouth, “I want to believe. In the impossible, in the improbable. In us.”

“If it’s not better by Monday, I’ll see a doctor. I promise.”

“Thank you.” He tightens his grip on her and wonders what it would be like. If they beat the odds, if it were true. “I- when I was at the store earlier, I- I didn’t mean to and I don’t know why I did it, but… if you want to check before Monday, I uhm, bought a pregnancy test.” She stiffens in his arms for the fraction of a moment, but then she relaxes and chuckles.

“You’re incorrigible, Mulder.”

“Hmm.” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in deep.

“I’m not ready yet.” Her tone is serious now and he leaves a lingering kiss on her neck to let her know he understands.

“I’ll be here whenever you are ready, Scully.”


End file.
